


Road to Recovery

by ReidFan



Category: Criminal Minds
Genre: Episode Tag
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-10
Updated: 2017-06-10
Packaged: 2018-11-12 14:46:37
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,789
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11164089
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ReidFan/pseuds/ReidFan
Summary: #4 in a series of episode tags for S12 E22 Red Light, although it is becoming much more than just an episode tag now. Oops.Spencer Reid has been released from prison and is now seeing a psychologist. And he's still wrestling with looking after his mother.





	Road to Recovery

Road to Recovery

 

A post Season12Episode22 Red Light CM fanfiction (#4 in the series)

 

(Reid)

K+

 

©mccabebabe@hotmail.com(Reidfan)

 

Thank you again to my anonymous friend for the firsthand PTSD information; to Droogie for medical insight and input and to Aut for her continuing support and help with my writing. Any mistakes herein are my own.

 

For more information about PTSD, please go to <https://www.nimh.nih.gov> and/or <https://www.ptsd.va.gov>

 

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“ _The results of any traumatic experience can only be resolved by experiencing, articulating and judging every facet of the original experience within a process of careful therapeutic disclosure._ ”-Alice Miller

 

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         “Dammit,” she said as she disconnected the call and shoved her cellphone back into her pocket with more force than was necessary.

 

         “Trouble?” asked David Rossi as he stood by the entrance of his Unit Chief’s office and belatedly rapped on the door.

 

         “Dave,” Emily Prentiss sighed, “Sorry. It’s okay.” She rose from her seat and gestured towards their conference room. “We have a lead on Scratch. Garcia’s about to brief us.”

 

         The other members of the team—Tara Lewis, Luke Alvez, Jennifer Jareau and Stephen Walker were already situated at the round table as Rossi and Prentiss joined them. Less than a minute later, their technical analyst, Penelope Garcia arrived with an armload of file folders and photographs, which she deposited on the table in front of Prentiss.

 

         “El Paso, Texas,” Garcia started. “There were three documented sightings of Peter Lewis in and around El Paso in the last forty-eight hours.”

 

         Prentiss took over at that moment, “The Director wants him caught. He wants me to send some of you to help, given our previous experience and knowledge of Scratch. So, Rossi, you and Tara and Luke will take the jet and go out to El Paso.”

 

         “Okay,” Rossi acknowledged, taking the relevant folders and photographs from the table and addressing Lewis and Alvez, said “Meet in the jet in fifteen.”

 

         “Stephen,” Prentiss now addressed Walker specifically. “The B-A-P head called me this morning and asked to borrow you for a consult.”

 

         He picked up his briefcase and nodded, “All right, on my way.”

 

         Emily waited until the others had left the room and turned to face JJ.

 

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         “I’ve gone over your chart, Spencer, just looking over the progress,” Dr. Saoirse Flanagan flipped through the pages in his file and set it down to look him in the eye.

 

         He met her gaze with a small smile and she resisted the urge to return the smile. Instead, she asked,

 

         “Nightmares since you were here last Wednesday?”

 

         He nodded. “One on Friday night, one on Monday night.”

 

         Her eyebrows rose in surprise. “Only two in a whole week? And no multiples in the same night?”

 

         “Yes to the first question. And no, I haven’t had multiple nightmares in a single night for nineteen days, Dr. Flanagan.”

 

         She hurried to make note of that on his chart and reviewed with him. “You mentioned in a previous appointment that you’ve talked about your feelings regarding being imprisoned, with Jennifer Jareau. She’s a friend of yours, a colleague, am I right?”

 

         He nodded.

 

         “Spencer, do I have your permission to talk to her about this?”

 

         His brow furrowed questioningly but he gave his immediate approval. Dr. Flanagan continued,

 

         “No trouble sleeping?”

 

         He shook his head no.

 

         “Trouble concentrating?”

 

         Again, he shook his head.

 

         “Do you startle easily? Are you jittery or nervous at all?”

 

         “No.”

 

         “Tense?”

 

         “About my mom sometimes, yeah.”

 

         “Because of her dementia or because of her abduction, Spencer? Are you blaming yourself for that?”

 

         He thought for a moment and answered truthfully, “It’s her situation, Dr. Flanagan. This whole thing happened because I wanted to help her Alzheimer’s and instead I just made things worse.”

 

         She pursed her lips and weighed her words for a moment before speaking. “You didn’t make things worse, Spencer. You were drugged and framed and wrongfully arrested and imprisoned. We already established that.”

 

         “I’m sorry—“ he started.

 

         “Don’t, Spencer,” she waved off the apology. “You’re tense because her situation, her Alzheimer’s specifically, is worsening. You know I’m in communication with Grace O’Halloran too, don’t you?” She paused long enough to let him acknowledge that and continued, “Diana has recovered from her abduction, Spencer. According to Grace, she doesn’t even remember it for the most part. She doesn’t like enclosed spaces but you told Grace weeks ago that Diana has never liked them.”

 

         Reid managed a slight smile, “I don’t either. Guess I inherited that from her.”

 

         “Do you still blame yourself for the death of Luis Delgado?”

 

         His eyes clouded over briefly before he inhaled deeply, exhaled and told her, “No. I blame Duerson and Frazier for that.”

 

         “Are you having negative feelings about yourself at all?” She eyed him carefully as she asked.

 

         “Not anymore. I mean, I did. At first. I thought I was just as bad as them because I,” he paused and lowered his voice, “I liked hurting those guys because they hurt me. And they killed Luis.”

 

         “And you were ashamed of that? You felt guilty.”

 

         “I did. Yeah. But I realised, after the confrontation with Cat and after talking about it with JJ—that’s Jennifer—that it was the fear. I’m not truly like that, not like them.”

 

         Dr. Flanagan nodded and smiled, “No. You’re not. Spencer, I’ve gone over and over all the notes from our sessions. I have a few more questions, but I think we’ll save them for next time.”

 

         He rose, shook her hand and told her he’d see her Friday morning.

 

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         Spencer climbed the steep steps to the front porch of their safe house and unlocked the door. He turned and waved greetings to the two Security agents patrolling the perimeter of the house and then let himself into the house.

 

         His mother was sitting in the living room at the front of the house. She was staring off into space. Spencer called out a hello to her but wasn’t acknowledged. The Security agent sat in an armchair across from Diana Reid and Spencer approached him.

 

         “She’s having an off day, Grant?” he asked in low tones.

 

         Agent Anderson nodded. “She was okay this morning. But not since she woke up from her nap and saw Grace wasn’t here. Oh, I hope that’s okay, Grace wanted to go out and since your mother was sleeping at the time, Robert and I figured it would be okay.”

 

         Spencer nodded, “Yeah, it’s fine.” He reached over to touch his mother’s hand and she looked up, giving him a small smile but apparently didn’t recognise him as her son. He was careful not to show a reaction.

 

         “Is it time for tea?” she asked.

 

         Grant immediately rose to his feet, “I’ll get it for you, Diana,” he offered.

 

         “Thank you, that would be lovely.”

 

         Reid stepped away from her and addressed Anderson,

 

         “I want to go take a shower, if that’s okay, Grant? I’ll just be a couple of minutes.”

 

         “Absolutely, Dr. Reid. Go ahead, I got this,” he replied as they both left; Anderson to the kitchen, Reid headed down the hallway to the bathroom.

 

         A smile crossed his face when he picked a facecloth from the towel caddy on the wall beside the shower. Grace had gone out one day and replaced all the white towels in the bathrooms with dark green ones, hoping the coloured ones would avoid triggering his prison experience being gagged by white terrycloth. The tactic worked. He hadn’t had that flashback since.

 

         He stripped off and climbed into the shower, adjusted the water temperature to his liking and ducked into the stream. He showered quickly, remembering he’d told Anderson he’d only be a few minutes. He finished, dried off quickly and dressed in jeans and a sweater before hurrying back to the living room. Diana was standing at the picture window, staring out at the view. Grant was back in his seat in the armchair.

 

         As Reid joined them, Anderson rose to return to his post. A short time later, Grace and Robert returned. Robert joined Grant on Security Detail and Grace, after greeting Diana and Spencer, disappeared into the kitchen with several grocery bags. Reid could hear her putting away groceries as he tried fruitlessly to engage Diana in a game of Scrabble.

 

         He decided to read and picked up a book from the coffee table. After reading ten pages, he glanced up at Diana and saw that she was staring blankly at him. He asked her if she wanted to read and received no reply.

 

         Grace entered the living room with a shopping bag over one arm and a plate with a few biscuits in the other hand. She set the plate down beside Diana and whispered to her,

 

         “I brought you some of your favourite cookies.”

 

         “I like these?” Diana asked, her confusion evident on her face.

 

         “Sometimes, with your tea, Diana,” Grace replied evenly. She turned to Spencer and held out the shopping bag, “And I picked this up for you today.”

 

         His brow furrowed as he took the bag from her and opened it. Inside was something that had been rolled up. The look on his face caused Grace to laugh lightly as she took him aside. Diana was engrossed in her tea and cookies and paid them no attention.

 

         “It’s a yoga mat, Spencer. Something else I thought might help you unwind and relax for better and undisturbed sleep.”

 

         Together they walked to the empty room at the back of the house. Its large windows overlooked the garden and filled the room with sunlight. Grace’s yoga mat lay rolled up in one corner and a small portable stereo sat on the one tiny table set next to the rear corner wall.

 

         “I will teach you a few basic moves, I’ll do them with you if you like but it’s also peaceful and relaxing to do on your own.”

 

         He nodded obediently and set the new mat down next to hers.

 

         “Not right now, though?” he half asked, half stated.

 

         “No, it’ll wait until your mother goes to bed, Spencer. And I should get back to her.”

 

         Shutting the door, the two walked back down the hallway.

 

         “Okay,” he acknowledged. “And, I forgot to mention it earlier, but thanks for getting those dark towels. It’s really made a difference, Grace, I haven’t had that flashback since those towels arrived.”

 

         “I thought it was worth a shot if it gave you some comfort.”

 

         “It did. I’ll have to remember to put a couple of dark towels in my go bag.”

 

         Grace’s face registered confusion at his remark so he explained,

 

         “My pajamas and toothbrush and a change of clothes in a small travel bag. And now, my dark towels, if we end up in hotel rooms because the case keeps us away overnight.”

 

         “Ah, well that’s clever of you,” she told him.

 

         “Hey, it was _your_ idea,” he pointed out. They reached the kitchen and Spencer directed, “Go on in to Mom; I’ll start lunch.”

 

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         “Yes, Sir, understood. Half of the team is on its way to El Paso for the case. I’ll coordinate from here.”

 

         Emily listened for a minute longer as the caller spoke and then said goodbye and hung up.

 

         She dropped her head into her hands and sighed, muttering half under her breath, “Not yet, though. Not yet.”

 

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         “Spencer, good to see you. How have you been in the two days since our last appointment?” Dr. Flanagan rose from her chair behind the desk and sat, as had become customary for Spencer’s visits, in one of the two armchairs in front of her desk.

 

         He waited until she was seated then took the other chair and handed her a small package wrapped in tinfoil.

 

         “What’s this?”

 

         “Banana bread,” he told her, “I’ve found that baking relaxes me, Dr. Flanagan. It’s funny, because I’ve never been much for cooking at all.”

 

         Dr. Flanagan smiled broadly.

 

         “But I’ve been reading about ways to relax and clear my mind,” he paused as he saw Dr. Flanagan nod approvingly, “And actually, Grace suggested culinary arts.”

 

         “Well it looks like I have my lunch here, doesn’t it? Thank you very much, I’m looking forward to it.” She laughed and set it down on the desk, picking up his file in her other hand.

 

         “Are you ready to go over this with me today, Spencer?”

 

         “Yes.”

 

         “All right then. First I just want to go over the four types of symptoms.”

 

         Reid chewed his bottom lip and listed them, “re-experiencing, avoidance, hyperarousal and cognitive.”

 

         She nodded. “Now, there is no question you did have re-experiencing.”

 

         “I did. I do. Actually, I haven’t in almost a week now.”

 

         “You’ve also indicated there were hyperarousal symptoms,” she flipped through her notes, “trouble sleeping, being startled more easily.”

 

         He sighed.

 

         “But you haven’t had avoidance symptoms at all. And regarding cognition symptoms, I spoke to your friend Jennifer yesterday. While you did have some guilt and blame feelings earlier on, she told me you have worked past that. You realise you’re not to blame. You have no reason to feel ashamed or guilty.”

 

         Spencer licked his lips and started to say something but Dr. Flanagan held up her hand to stop him.

 

         “ _Nothing to feel guilty or ashamed about.”_ She repeated purposefully. “But do understand, those feelings may or may not resurface now and again. That’s completely normal and you have the tools, the coping strategies, to deal with them.”

 

         Spencer nodded.

 

         “And you have been finding other ways to deal with anxiety or stress. That’s a positive too. You’re enjoying your favourite pastimes like reading and chess?” He nodded and she murmured ‘Good, good. And finding new ones apparently,” laughing slightly as she gestured at the tinfoil package on her desk.

 

         “What does this all mean, Doctor?” He sent a silent thank you to Grace for all the help she’d been over the last four weeks.

 

         “Well, Spencer, what it means is, I don’t believe you have PTSD.” She smiled when she saw the positive reaction on his face.

 

         “You don’t or didn’t exhibit enough of the symptoms for PTSD to be my diagnosis. You have resilience factors that probably contributed to that. You have supportive friends. Your experience in your career; you’re used to dealing with traumatic experiences, like murders, fires, plane crashes, you’re _used_ to that kind of trauma. You had positive coping strategies in place, even before you came to see me.”

 

         She paused to flip through a few pages and looked up at him. “You refused medication when we first started discussing treatment and I have to admit I wasn’t sure that was the best course of action but you’ve proven otherwise.”

 

         He debated internally whether or not to tell Dr. Flanagan about his dilaudid issue. She could see he was thinking about something and stayed quiet for a moment, giving him some time. She searched his eyes for a minute and then broke their silence.

 

         “You had a problem in the past, didn’t you?”

 

         He cast his eyes downward and nodded.

 

         “Spencer. It’s nothing to be ashamed of. You obviously conquered it and don’t want a recurrence.” She reached out and touched his arm. “That’s admirable, not shameful.”

 

         He lifted his eyes to meet her gaze and gave her a tiny smile.

 

         “And it tells me you know yourself well enough to know what’s good for you. That’s a good thing, Spencer. It gives me confidence that you _will_ recover from this. Which is why I’m positive you do not have PTSD. You have, or rather, did have, ASD. Acute stress disorder. It’s an immediate reaction to your own trauma, but for the most part, the symptoms have gone away.”

 

         “I read about that too. The only thing left is the occasional nightmare. But even that’s been almost a week since the last one.”

 

         “That’s good news. Bear in mind, the symptoms may return now and again, and they may even get more intense should you be triggered in some way. I’ll continue to monitor your progress, bi-weekly I think would be best to start, unless you have a recurrence. But I’d like to see you at least once more, Spencer, before I change our routine. I’m away on Monday for a conference but does next Wednesday work for you?”

 

         He pulled his iPhone out of his pocket and opened the calendar program, adding an appointment as he asked “Ninety-thirty a.m. again?”

 

         “Yes, that will work.” She rose, offered her hand, which he happily took and then saw him out, smiling at the sight of her patient with a definite new bounce in his step.

 

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